


Something You Don't Even Have a Name For

by rubyissherlocked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Episode Related, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyissherlocked/pseuds/rubyissherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you." -Richard Siken</p><p>A series of drabbles revolving around everyone's favourite codependent brothers. One chapter per episode, some outsider POV, some not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Fumbling in the Dark: Love Advice For the Romantically Impaired" by leonidaslion.
> 
> Title and quote in summary from "You Are Jeff" by the amazing poet, Richard Siken.
> 
> Most dialogue is taken directly from the transcript.
> 
> Fair warning: this is sort of going to be an ongoing project for me. Something just to keep me writing when I've got no other inspiration, something to use as an outlet when I'm drowning in feels, or just something to write whenever I want to get away from my bigger projects (aka That Merlin Fic That I Should Really Finish). Therefore, updates will be EXTREMELY sporadic.

When Jess wakes up, it's not because of the thumps and grunts coming from down the hall. It's not the rumble of a car motor or the glare of it's headlights passing by the window that wake her either. Nor is it the creak of the floorboards as Sam slips out of bed (somehow without jostling her), or the squeak of the door hinges to their apartment.

Honestly, she just woke up to go to the bathroom, but then she noticed Sam's absence, heard the noises, and groggily sat up, forcing herself to her feet to investigate. Jess crept down the hall, wincing at even the slightest sound that her bare feet made. In hindsight, she probably should have brought some sort of weapon, or at least phone with 911 already dialled, with her.

She peeked around the corner of where all the clamor was coming from, just in time to see a man (she could barely make out any of his other features in the dark) pin Sam to the ground. He mumbles something she can't quite hear in a voice like gravel, tightening his hold on Sam's neck.

Shit.

No no no no no.

Every fibre of her being wants to get in there and protect Sam, her Sam, from any danger. She looks around wildly and grabs a lamp off a table. Takes a deep breath. Starts forward.

But then something changes.

"Dean?" Sam gasps the name out, says it like a prayer. Like a revelation.

He sounds absolutely fucking broken.

The intruder chuckles.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Sam is still panting, his chest is still heaving.

Jess steps back and reassesses the situation, still keeping her grip on the lamp firm. Something about this feels wrong.

_Dean._

She's definitely heard that name somewhere before. Where, godammit? Maybe it's the panic, or maybe it's the fact that she just woke up a few minutes ago, but she can't remember.

Jess takes note of the intimacy, the familiarity. Her gaze lingers when she sees how the man's holding Sam's wrist right above his heart, when she sees his hand curled around Sam's throat, thumb nestling into his jugular, in a way that shouldn't look private, but does.

Dean (she supposes she can call him that from now on) opens his mouth to speak and Jess strains her ears to hear. "That's 'cause you're out of practice."

She almost smirks at that, and thinks back to last night. Sam is most definitely not out of practice.

Sam twists out of Dean's grasp and pins him to the floor in the next second.

Jess smiles. That's her boy.

"Or not." Dean grimaces and pats Sam's leg twice, removing his hand from where it was formerly splayed across Sam's thigh. "Get off me."

Sam rolls to his feet and pulls the other up with him in one swift movement.

She was right. They must know each other from somewhere, they _must_ , there's no way that they don't. Because there's some sort of grace to their movements, some sort of natural ease. Almost like they were falling into an old pattern, picking up an unfinished dance they'd left midway.

The air feels thick all of a sudden. She feels as if _she's_ the intruder now.

Jess stops hearing what they're saying when Dean places his hands on Sam's shoulders and shakes him, moving just a fraction of an inch closer. She can't bother to focus on their words when all that's running through her head, over and over again, is "My Sam. Not yours."

Sam doesn't seem to feel threatened anymore, but Jess sure as hell does.

They're still talking, their faces much too close for comfort. She runs through her memory trying to remember just who exactly this Dean guy is. It's right there, right at the forefront of her mind and yet...

Fuck it.

She'll ask Sam who he is later. For now, Jess puts the lamp down and walks in. They don't tear their eyes away from each other until she flicks the lights on and says Sam's name questioningly. Even then, their heads turn towards her in unison. Jess grits her teeth before getting her first good look at Dean, and she has to admit, she can see the appeal.

However, she can't help but notice how Sam's gaze never leaves Dean's face.


	2. Wendigo

Dean doesn't understand why Sam won't just fucking talk to him. 

He's obviously upset, why wouldn't he be? Saying that the last few days have been rough for him would be the understatement of the year. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Sam more wrecked than he is right now, he doesn't even jump at the chance to drive like he used to.

Key words - used to. Dean has to keep reminding himself that this Sam is different from the Sam he knew a few years ago. Hell, this Sam is different from the Sam whose apartment Dean broke into last week. He's aged with grief now, shoulders slumped with the burden of guilt he's carrying. 

All of this, from Dad, to whatever's happened between them, and now Jess, none of it is Sam's fault, none of it. He has to see that. Dean has to make him see that. 

They lapsed into silence miles ago, and the longer it continues, the more he wants to break it. Dean's not one for talking about feelings, but for Sam? Of course he will. 

He looks over to the passenger seat. 

Sam's fast asleep, his chest barely rising and falling with each breath, shaggy hair (Dean's offered to cut it multiple times, but the kid's stubborn) making him look unfairly endearing.

He drags his eyes back to the road. 

Another time, then. 

~ ~ ~

Dean crouches in front of a pensive Sam by the campfire, just out of earshot of the others. He figures that even if he ends up embarrassing himself by revealing just a bit too much, there's a good chance they're all gonna get eaten by a fucking wendigo anyways. 

He tries to comfort Sam as much as he can, tries to soothe the anger and vengeance he can see on his face when they start talking about Jessica's killer. Keeping all of it, all that rage, bottled inside will kill him, and Dean just can't live with that. It's frightening how much the look in Sam's eyes right now reminds him of Dad. That's not what he wants for Sammy, he deserves a better life than the one Dad's chosen for himself. Dean doesn't want to watch his brother turn into their father. He can't. 

He tells Sam so, except maybe not in so many words, and maybe not that last part. That would just piss him off.

Sam looks down for a moment before meeting his gaze. Dean can't tell if the glisten in his eyes is from unshed tears or the glare of the campfire.

"How do you do it? How does Dad do it?" His voice breaks with emotion, so Dean guesses it's the former.

He looks over at Haley and Ben. They're holding hands, obviously seeking solace in each other's presence. Dean's throat tightens a little at the sight, and he thinks back to earlier years when Sam would curl around him in motel rooms, both of them waiting for Dad to return from a hunt. 

"Well for one, them. I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable."

And then, partly because there's slightly too much truth in that statement for comfort and partly because he wants to see Sam smile, Dean says "I'll tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can."

He barely gets a second to savour the sight before the wendigo makes another appearance and everything goes to hell.

~ ~ ~

Dean wakes to Sam shaking him and yelling his name, and something about the way he says gets to him. Now's not the time to dwell on it though, so he puts the thought in the back of his mind, does his damn job, and miraculously, they all get out alive. 

Haley seems grateful. When she kisses Dean on the cheek, he can't help but notice the pointed look she gives Sam. He doesn't know why, but it rankles him, and they say goodbye quickly. 

After the ambulance drives off, the sirens still ringing in his ears, Sam sits next to him, hands in his pockets. There's not much to be said, but they say it all anyways. 

When Dean tosses the keys to Sam, it somehow feels like both a victory and a defeat.


	3. Dead in the Water

She's been watching him for quite a while now. 

He's good looking, that's for sure. And from the way he carries himself, she's positive that he knows it. His hands look capable, strong, she can tell from the way he handles his belongings. The freckles and wide green eyes add some innocence to the otherwise roguish exterior. He's got a pretty mouth too, currently pursed around the pen he's been chewing on for the past few minutes. 

A bit rough around the edges, but she thinks she can make it work.

"Wendy! You wanna daydream bout pretty boy over there, do it on your own time."

She snaps out her daze at the unpleasant sound of her dick of a boss's voice and straightens up from where she'd been leaning against a counter.

"Of course, sorry Sir!" She puts her best Service With a Smile face on and walks into the dining area, ignoring the feeling of her boss's scowl burning a hole in her back.

Wendy doesn't go in straight away, that's not her style. She does a round (making sure to catch the man's eyes at least once) and serves some other patrons - their typical rowdy bunch - who're already a few drinks in. She laughs at all the right times, flips her hair, and skillfully hides her annoyance with a coy grin when one of their hands wanders up her leg. She's worked at this joint long enough to know that complaining about it will do nothing but get her fired. All she does is share an exasperated glance with the other waitress working tonight, Alex.

Speaking of Alex, Wendy's sure that she's noticed the man with the pretty freckles too by now. See, the two of them had this sort of friendly competition involving some of their more attractive customers going. 

She doesn't notice Alex walking by her, until she pokes her in the arm, and whispers "Watch this" in her ear.

Wendy does as she says and becomes a witness to Alex sashaying past Freckle's table, winking at him, and topping off the whole spectacle by dropping a fork and bending over to pick it up in the most seductive way possible. She grits her teeth when his head turns to watch Alex walk away.

That bitch. She doesn't play fair.

The tall one that the man was with didn't seem to appreciate the way he was still watching Alex.

Wendy paused for a moment and took stock of the other man. This one was all angles and lean lines, nice dimples (even when he wasn't smiling) and tousled hair. She wouldn't say no to him either. Maybe the three of them could all have some fun together. Hell, she'd even let Alex join if she took her shift next week. 

He didn't seem happy though. She tried to suss out their relationship. Friend, relative, boyfriend? From the way he was still glaring daggers at Alex, she was leaning towards the latter. 

A few minutes later, the tall one got up and headed towards the bathroom, hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, looking at the ground. Wendy purposefully stood in his pathway, not knowing why, just wanting to interact with these two as much as possible. He didn't look up at her until he accidentally shouldered her walking by. She stumbled a bit, exaggerating the motion to get some sort of reaction, but even then, all he did was grab her shoulder to steady her, mumble a quick apology, and keep walking.

She sighs, hoping Alex didn't see that. 

Well, at least Freckles was alone now. Time to test out her theory. She shook her hair so it fell loosely onto her shoulders, plastered an alluring smile on her face, and walked up to his table, swinging her hips with each stride in a way that's garnered plenty of appreciation before.

"Can I get you anything else?" She bends slightly in a way that she knows accentuates her chest just enough to be sexy, but not obviously desperate.

He looks up, still chewing the damn pen, and smiles at her. They're off to a good start so far. But then the tall one's somehow already back, smoothly slipping into his seat and giving her a terse smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Just the check, please."

Ah. So she was right. She looks them both up and down and has to admit, they do look good together. Wendy nods, says "Okay" and heads back the way she came. 

She looks over at them one last time. It's a shame. She'd gotten her hopes up. 

~ ~ ~

Wendy meets Alex out back for a smoke break a few minutes later. The two men are still inside, completely wrapped up in each other, too engrossed in whatever it is they're talking about to acknowledge anybody else. 

"So, how'd it go with the pretty one and his tall friend?" Alex smirks at her before taking a drag of the cigarette they were sharing. 

Wendy laughs and reaches out for the joint, wanting her turn. "We're both out of luck. They're together."

Alex pouts before nodding thoughtfully and taking another drag, ignoring her outstretched hand. Wendy smacks her arm and she reluctantly hands it over. "Yeah, I was kinda getting that vibe off them. Pity."

Wendy feels her pain, she really does. She thinks back to the way the tall one looked at Freckles, remembers the heat in his eyes, and is hit with a wave of want all over again. 

The two of them sit out in the alleyway for the rest of their break, passing the cigarette back and forth and lamenting their loss until it's time to go back in. 

Alex's fingers brush hers as they both reach for the door, and she smiles at Wendy mischievously before stepping in front of her and strutting (there's really no other way to describe the way she walks) away. 

Wendy looks down, hiding her grin. Maybe she won't be going home alone tonight after all.


	4. Phantom Traveler

Amanda is good at her job. She takes pride in it, she does. It's not easy, being a flight attendant. As proved last week, sometimes it can be downright dangerous.

_The silence is almost more suffocating than the smoke forcing itself down her throat. You'd think there'd be people screaming, but there's nothing besides the sound of her own whimpering as she frantically tries to free herself from the rubble, heat from a nearby fire scorching her palms..._

She shakes the memory from her head. Now's not the time to be thinking about that. She's fine. Everything's fine.

Amanda busies herself by walking through the isle and making sure all luggage is stowed properly, making sure to keep a professional smile on her face when a toddler sticks his lollipop to her skirt. The poor mother seems to have her hands full with her screaming baby, so she doesn't think too badly of her. She's used to it, after all.

A few rows back are two men, one of them the person who'd approached her earlier with all the questions. He's clearly more than a little nervous, but the other is quite calm. Experienced flyer, she guesses. The one she'd talked to before has his eyes closed, his hands clenched on the armrests in a death grip, and he's humming what she's pretty sure is a Metallica song while the man he's with looks on with exasperated fondness.

The plane shakes.

Amanda grips the edge of a seat and watches as his eyes fly open. "Come on! That can't be normal!" He looks at the other man with fear in his eyes.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence." His companion's voice is extremely reassuring, almost dispelling her own concerns. The panicked one is lucky to have him.

Somebody on her other side taps her on the shoulder and she realizes she's blocking the way to the bathroom. She moves aside, and then turns around to head back to her seat.

The next thing she hears is the relaxed one telling the decidedly unrelaxed one to calm down. The two are out of earshot now but she can still see them, and they're deep in conversation, faces and bodies angled towards each other. They seem to be in their own little bubble, oblivious to the going ons of the rest of the plane (she finds out later that this is very Not True.)

The plane shakes again and their conversation stops. Or rather, the nervous one stops, probably to focus on keeping his lunch where it belongs.

He looks _terrified_. Amanda sympathizes with him - she's not feeling too great at the moment either. But then he meets the other man's eyes and a fraction of the tension in his shoulders disappear. They shift marginally closer together.

Amanda didn't have a clear line of sight below their necks, but she'd still bet her house that they were now holding hands.


	5. Bloody Mary

Sam's sleep is fitful at best that night, his normal nightmares about Jess are interspersed with flashes of Bloody Mary and his own reflection screaming what he knows is the truth in his face. He wakes up panting (just like he does every night) and rolls over on his side, keeping his eyes clenched shut all the while so he doesn't have to look up at the ceiling. 

Dean's not asleep yet - Sam can see that his eyes are wide open. He hopes he didn't wake him up. Dean opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it, and then repeats the motion an infuriating amount of times. He wishes he'd just say something already. The silence is stifling.

"So, you wanna talk about it yet?" Dean refuses to meet his eyes. Sam almost laughs at how obvious his reluctance to talk about anything remotely related to their feelings is.

"I'm good."

"Yeah, whatever man" Dean turns over so he's not facing Sam, pulling the covers up so everything but the top of his hair is hidden. The disappointment in his voice is apparent. Sam apologizes in his head for the brush off.

Minutes pass and Sam can't seem to get back to sleep. His mind wanders, rummages through old memories and sensations that he thought he'd forgotten about. Pulls them up and plays them on repeat so he's forced to think about them. 

Most of them are unpleasant. 

But then he thinks about a childhood spent in shitty motel rooms, the pervasive emptiness that sunk in as soon as Dad left, the warmth and comfort found in his big brother's arms. 

As fucked up as it all was, Sam almost wishes he could go back. Because at least he knew what the hell was going on back then, right? It was constant, steady. The cycle of new hunt - new motel - new school never ceased, and throughout it all, he had Dean with him. 

Those memories generally aren't unpleasant. Bittersweet is a better word for it.

Sam is struck suddenly with the memory of when he told Dean he was leaving. He doesn't care to relive the moment, he's spent too much time locking it away in his brain for that, but still. It was just a few years ago, but it feels like a lifetime. It was at that moment that the first crack in their bond appeared, and since then, the gaps have only been widening. When Dean broke into his apartment who knows how many weeks ago (maybe even months, the days were starting to blend together), Sam had though maybe, just maybe, they could work on closing the drift between them. He didn't expect all of this. This stuff, baggage. Maybe there's too much history between them. Maybe this partners thing just was never going to work with them. Maybe the only reason he's struggling with all of this so much is because of the feelings towards Dean Sam desperately tried to bury rising back up.

He would say "you had me at 'easy tiger'", but that's not true. Whatever this is, it's always been there, just under the surface, since before he can remember.

Dean turns back over so he's flat on his back and sighs. "Dude. I can hear you thinking from here, go the fuck to sleep."

Sam looks outside. The sun is about to come out. "It's almost morning, what's the point?" 

"I don't give a shit. We're sleeping in, okay? It's not like we don't deserve it. In fact, let's take the day off." Dean rolls over again, this time so his face is buried in his pillow. "Not like the monsters are going anywhere, eh Sammy?"

Sam chuckles. "I'll make blueberry pancakes then. Go big or go home right?"

Dean gives an appreciative groan by way of response and the conversation dries up. Soon, he can hear Dean's snoring, muffled by the pillow.

One thing Sam knows for sure is that of all the things he was leaving behind when he left, of all the things he was running from, Dean was never one of them. 

Dean was his reason to stay.


End file.
